


twin-size mattress

by transishimaru



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transishimaru/pseuds/transishimaru
Summary: when the floodwater comes, it ain't gonna be clear; it's gonna look like mudWith everything in chaos, Ishimaru has to figure out his place in a world he no longer fits into.





	twin-size mattress

**Author's Note:**

> Post-game, Mostly Everyone Survives AU. Ignores UDG and the anime because I'm not all that familiar with them.  
> Venty fic. Named after [the Front Bottoms song "Twin Size Mattress"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWJUk65EnQM).

The world isn’t destroyed like Junko said it was. It’s – not pretty. It’s not great. It’s bleak, the outside of the school is destroyed and it’s a little too quiet, but it’s not as far gone as all that. Which is relieving, because after what they’ve just been through, honestly, how could they survive in a total wasteland?

Makoto would probably say _hope_. But Ishimaru thinks, probably, it’s _love_ , and the first thing he does when he feels his heart start beating again, is pull Mondo down to kiss him until it almost stops.

* * *

Togami isn’t enthused at the idea of walking. He’s not thrilled with the other options, either. After being poked in the ribs several times, Mondo offers him a ride on his motorcycle, but doesn’t bother trying to work past the sneer their classmate presents them with. They’ve just woken out of a _coma_ , for fuck’s sake, they don’t need this, is what he grumbles under his breath. He tells Togami to have a fun time hitching a ride with Toko, and speeds off before the heir can change his mind.

Ishimaru wants to say that it’s a dirty trick, but his throat sticks. Everything in his chest is buzzing and high on anticipation. He’s frightened of more than the speed, his hands sweaty and fingers locked in place where he’s holding on for dear life around Mondo’s stomach. They haven’t talked, not seriously, about what’s going on, about what’s going to happen, and he feels like he’s going to vomit when Mondo takes one of Taka’s hands and casually kisses the back of it.

He should be yelling, telling Mondo not to take his hands off the bike, his eyes off the road, but he can’t make his voice work. This is…what he’s wanted. Even if he can’t remember it all, he’s sure, he _knows_ it. For whatever it’s worth, for as long as he can remember.

How much can he actually remember?

He closes his eyes and his fingers clench and he tries not to think about how many laws and safety regulations they’re probably breaking. Everything out here is a nightmare, lawless and destroyed. It doesn’t matter much in the long run if they’re not wearing helmets or they’re speeding and he’s supposed to be thinking about the past, supposed to be pushing back to remember past layers of brainwashing and deletion.

The photos. The photos, the photos, the photos that Makoto showed them, once they’d worked the circulation back into their tingling wrists and aching necks. They were proof that they’d known each other before, that they were older than they thought, that they’d been around for the chaos that collapsed all the surrounding buildings and blocked off all help that might have tried to reach them.

And it was just a computer program. All of that, was just a simulation.

Ishimaru feels blocked in. He presses his face so hard against Mondo’s back that his nose hurts. The pressure and the pain feel good. In a bad way. Or bad, in a good way. They _feel_ , and his body is numb from the wind on his sides and the anxiety cocooning him in place. Even the hand Mondo is holding feels detached.

He forgets about digging, taking in deep breaths of a coat that hasn’t been washed in months.

* * *

He’s not really sure where they are when they have to stop for gas. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. His watch says it hasn’t even been an hour, but it could be broken, for all he knows. Mondo uncurls Ishimaru’s arms from around his waist and gets off and stares at the gas pump blankly.

“We don’t have any money,” he says softly. Ishimaru wonders if that’s even important. The convenience store attached looks abandoned. There’s a layer of dust or something on the ground and the pumps and the roof.

It all looks vaguely familiar to him.

“I think I live nearby.” He’s not even sure, at first, that he says it out loud. Mondo could be turning to look at him for any reason; his expression gives nothing away. And it kind of hurts to look at him, with the knowledge that there’s more between them than he can remember. With the knowledge that they’re in different places than they thought, that they are running away from something together and into something together and that maybe they –

His mind is working in too many run-on sentences. And either he’s shaking, or the ground is.

He feels steadier when he looks into Mondo’s eyes. This must mean that he’s right, that this is right. That his hopes aren’t built on manipulation. That the things he feels won’t be so easy to disintegrate.

Mondo’s eyes shift, looking down the road. In the distance, beyond the rubble, they can see a scattering of houses that seem to still be standing despite the destruction around them. At one point in time, Ishimaru can imagine, there were trees, and with that addition in mind he feels his chest vibrating like a scream echoing in a cavern. This is it, where he lives. He wonders if his father is there.

He wonders if his father is alive.  

He starts patting at his pockets to mask the shivers that threaten to overwhelm him. He needs his keys – not that they can’t get inside without them – but his keys – his father – the trees – his house – his father –

Bigger hands grab his wrists and pull at his nervous movements. Mondo’s hands are so scarred, so calloused against a uniform that feels over-ironed and uncomfortable against his skin. How long has he been wearing the same clothes, unchanged?

It sticks. He wants to take it all off. He wants to _run_.

“Hey,” Mondo says, and then stops, his lips pressing together. Ishimaru can see him swallowing, his eyes clicking between hazy and focused. He’s scared, too, and holding it together, holding it for him. The look, the slight tremble in his body, kills Ishimaru’s urge to elope. He wants instead to lay down, even on the dirt and the ashes, and just hold him tightly. “Let’s go and see,” Mondo says next.

It’s barren, like the landscape. There should be more words, but there’s nothing to put them to.

He climbs back on the bike, pulling at Ishimaru’s arms again, putting them back in their place.

“We got enough gas to get there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional mood music -  
> [Airplane Mode - Flobots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzDOBqZjSYU)  
> [West Virginia - The Front Bottoms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XII7af9SrLI)  
> [Moth's Wings - Passion Pit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fv57ww-vJo)


End file.
